Lost Boy
by JustAnotherNinetiesBitch
Summary: TNT series, season 2. After J.R.'s funeral, John Ross and Sue Ellen reconcile. (1/1)


_"I'm a bit drunk now..."_

His mother's fearless confession had astounded the mourners at his father's private funeral but the revelation left John Ross unmoved. Her blurred attempt to paint the picture of continued sobriety had been transparent, at best. A delicate kiss from her lips to his cheek translated the musky scent of Bourbon on the warmth of her breath; the quiver of her hand on his only revived warped memories of her emotional instability. Her love affair with alcohol had been almost as passionate and involuntary as the one she had shared with his father. To have been witness - and sole proof - of their love, John Ross could only smile in alliance with the irony that her twenty-plus years of sobriety had been shattered by the loss of the one man who had cruelly manipulated her addiction. A tirade of belittlement or declaration of love and devotion could either rupture or sustain her resolve to overcome her inclination to the bottle.

While his mother's tormented disclosure had disturbed family and dear friends, John Ross didn't have to stretch his imagination to appreciate the allure alcohol must have held for his mother. The liquid, golden in colour, was as integral to J.R. as the heartbeat in his chest. It was a liquidated symbol of his father and his name was imprinted on the square-based glass beside it - the name John Ross had inherited and, with it, the many responsibilities his father shouldered; one of them, _his mother._

"Mama…" His knuckles rapped on the door to his father's bedroom at Southfork. The uncertainty of what he would find on the other side unnerved John Ross, almost as much as the years ahead without his father to captain him in the unpredictable Neverland that was the oil business; his father forever the heroic Peter Pan. "Mama," he pushed the door open, yet his feet remained rooted at the threshold. The creak of the door didn't evoke any reaction from Sue Ellen, who sat at the round table with a near-empty bottle as her only confidante. His hand cemented to the handle, John Ross studied his mother from a safe distance; her hands clutched his father's jacket, which was an off-white shade, reflective of his less-than-perfect persona.

She firmly held the material to the pit of her stomach, as her eyes drifted between John Ross and the picture in the frame. Her living, breathing son and faded photographs were all she had left to prove their love had ever existed. The outside world failed to comprehend the inevitability of the life she had shared with J.R., even their only son, and that realisation delivered an equal dose of heartache and consolation; for if no one could understand their love, then no one could control it, and no one could break it - and no one ever had. "I'm sorry, John Ross." A weary offer of remorse was about all she could muster in the aftermath. If she could have switched places with J.R., she surely would have done so. The resentment acquired after an inadequate childhood had created an impasse for their relationship but J.R. had fearlessly fractured the walls John Ross shut the world off with. Had he lived on, Sue Ellen had no doubt that father and son would have created an invincible partnership. "I'm so very sorry; I know I have disappointed you." Her conscience ached with the inescapable blame for the past estrangement between father and son, which was perhaps the indirect cause of John Ross' sadness.

The voice of his father circled his head like a vulture - _"from tip to tail" _\- and it ushered John Ross into the one position he would never feel qualified to be; his mother's support system. "You didn't disappoint me, mama." In spite of his best effort, his once powerful form had become a stricken version of itself; it was as if his shoulders had buckled beneath the weight of his father's loss. It occurred to Sue Ellen how much he mirrored J.R. upon the loss of Jock. Like his father before him, John Ross possessed a similar look of defeat in his eyes. Any colour they shone with had deadened to an eerie shade of stone, like a blue sky clouded over by an ominous storm. With his father's stride, John Ross approached his mother and removed the bottle from her reach. A puddle of Bourbon rippled at the bottom and John Ross pulled aside the other glass to match his mothers and carefully refilled both with one hand. "To dad."

Sue Ellen uncertainly hesitated but inevitably followed her son's lead. The clink of their toast echoed in the room and they identically devoured the liquor with a swift and perfected motion. John Ross positioned himself across the table and tilted his head back, his eyes closed in a faint attempt of denial. "May he rest in peace," Sue Ellen sadly reciprocated the sentiment.

Nearly five minutes of dedicated silence swirled in the air before John Ross opened his eyes and earnestly studied his mother's crestfallen expression. He had always been infatuated by her serene beauty, even in her most desolate moments. Like him, his father held an undeniable sway over Sue Ellen, and John Ross could appreciate the sense of pointlessness she must have experienced at the news of J.R.'s death - almost like a planet with no fiery sun to habitually orbit. In fact, almost anyone who came into contact with J.R. would find themselves revolving around him _but,_ while the rest of the world wound find deeper purpose, John Ross feared his mother would float on aimlessly in turmoil. "It must have been hard for you to say what you did at J.R.'s funeral," he commented, the sincerity of his voice another parallel to J.R., "I'm proud of you." For the first time since J.R. had died, Sue Ellen allowed her lips to curl into a _genuine,_ if not half-hearted, smile. "Daddy would be, too." Early on, it had been drilled into John Ross how much his mother needed direction and reassurance, especially when she succumbed to her addiction. Without caution, he stretched his hands across the table and squeezed hers in his, "I know I've been hard on you and I'm sorry, mama." Sometimes, it bemused John Ross how much of his parents he had inherited, if he could conceal his emotions so well that not even they could read between the lines of his resentment. "No matter what I said in the past, I have always known I was raised in love. Sure, sometimes, it felt more like a battlefield -" His dry remark elicited a tearful laugh from his mother and John Ross firmly held her eye. "I never doubted the love you shared, and the letter daddy wrote to you, the words you said today only confirmed what I have always known." With that, the invisible cloud above Sue Ellen's head instantly lifted and sailed onto its next victim, yet her sadness surely remained.

Sue Ellen carefully brushed away her tears with the final tissue in the box. As John Ross reluctantly released her other hand, she inched the frame in his direction. "I have been in this room a handful of times since your father left that wretched care-home and not once did I notice this picture. Can you believe he kept it, after all these years?" Guilt further encapsulated her conscience at her discovery; whereas J.R. had proudly displayed their history, she had quite literally swept every picture into an old box, aside from any which included their son.

"I do, I believe it," John Ross proudly nodded his head. "He loved you 'til the end."

A new wave of tears threatened to brim over her wide, hazel eyes and Sue Ellen stifled her emotion at the "what if" scenarios in her mind. "And I _love_ him." The crinkled letter on the desk attracted her attention and John Ross followed her line of vision, until she unintentionally released a little giggle. "What did I tell you? The moment he heard about my alliance with your uncle Gary, J.R. experienced the one emotion he has never been able to handle well - _jealousy._ I knew he'd try to manipulate me." She pressed the last words J.R. had written to her chest, "Call me crazy, John Ross, but if your father had made it back from Mexico, I may have found myself wandering down that aisle again."

Her son couldn't help but smirk, "Third time's the charm."

"And, I would have been the proudest mother in all of Texas to have you walk beside me." Before she found herself tormented by the shattered promise of tomorrow, Sue Ellen shook her head free of the notion. Her eyes freely surveyed the room; it was primed perfectly for his return, as if he were simply on an extended vacation. His Stetson was still balanced on the nook of the sofa, his bed spread fresh and his distinct smell in the air, which Sue Ellen readily inhaled. As she did so, she smiled instinctively at her son, "He's everywhere, isn't he?" She wasn't sure whether the promise of his presence would be a help or hindrance but Sue Ellen felt an unshakable sense of peace, as if she were forever under his protection. "John Ross, would you mind terribly if I asked you to stay here with me tonight?" The voice of his father forced him to kindly shake his head in assurance and Sue Ellen shot John Ross a smile of relief, "Thank you."

"I need to make a quick call first," he calmly departed the bedroom and entered the marooned kitchen, his emotions still contained. Number three on speed-dial, after his parents, was Pamela but it was her voicemail system that responded. He pivoted on his heel, his irritation palpable.

"John Ross," Bobby appeared from the darkness of the foyer. "How's your mother?"

"Drunk," his nephew coldly replied, detached from his mother's spectacularly public fall from grace. For the most part, J.R. had successfully shielded John Ross from his mother's alcoholic tendencies; Sue Ellen, too, had purposely withdrawn from her son whenever she suffered another relapse.

Bobby combatted John Ross' unsettled demeanour with a serene, warm demeanour. "She'll be okay, son," he provided staunch reassurance.

The term of endearment evoked a sense of malaise from John Ross. He was a fatherless son, once again - a lost boy. "I promised I'd stay with her, so..." John Ross impassively replied, and ambled back toward his father's bedroom. Upon return, he noted the sudden darkness that had befallen the room, in which the bedside lamp was the only source of light. His eyes searched, until the rise and fall of his mother's body in the bed attracted his attention. Her body snaked beneath the crisp, white sheet and J.R.'s jacket was compressed to her chest. The love letter his father had written awaited fresh eyes, weighted down by her glass, entirely drop-free of the addictive poison undoubtedly the cause of her deep and sudden slumber. John Ross quietly repositioned one of the chairs beside the bed and planted a hesitant kiss to her cheek, the way he had so often done as a child. He brushed the wisps of hair from her closed eyes, and her face sleepily buried further into J.R.'s pillow for that old, familiar scent. "I love you, mama."


End file.
